Chapter II: Roumanian-Gypsy Stories (1)

NO. 5.—THE VAMPIRE

There was an old woman in a village. And grown-up maidens met and span, and made a ‘bee.’ [40] And the young sparks came and laid hold of the girls, and pulled them about and kissed them. But one girl had no sweetheart to lay hold of her and kiss her. And she was a strapping lass, the daughter of wealthy peasants; but three whole days no one came near her. And she looked at the big girls, her comrades. And no one troubled himself with her. Yet she was a pretty girl, a prettier was not to be found. Then came a fine young spark, and took her in his arms and kissed her, and stayed with her until cock-crow. And when the cock crowed at dawn he departed. The old woman saw he had cock’s feet. [41] And she kept looking at the lad’s feet, and she said, ‘Nita, my lass, did you see anything?’

‘I didn’t notice.’

‘Then didn’t I see he had cock’s feet?’

‘Let be, mother, I didn’t see it.’

And the girl went home and slept; and she arose and went off to the spinning, where many more girls were holding a ‘bee.’ And the young sparks came, and took each one his sweetheart. And they kissed them, and stayed a while, and went home. And the girl’s handsome young spark came and took her in his arms and kissed her and pulled her about, and stayed with her till midnight. And the cock began to crow. The young spark heard the cock crowing, and departed. What said the old woman who was in the hut, ‘Nita, did you notice that he had horse’s hoofs?’

‘And if he had, I didn’t see.’

Then the girl departed to her home. And she slept and arose in the morning, and did her work that she had to do. And night came, and she took her spindle and went to the old woman in the hut. And the other girls came, and the young sparks came, and each laid hold of his sweetheart. But the pretty girl looks at them. Then the young sparks gave over and departed home. And only the girl remained neither a long time nor a short time. Then came the girl’s young spark. Then what will the girl do? She took heed, and stuck a needle and thread in his back. And he departed when the cock crew, and she knew not where he had gone to. Then the girl arose in the morning and took the thread, and followed up the thread, and saw him in a grave where he was sitting. Then the girl trembled and went back home. At night the young spark that was in the grave came to the old woman’s house and saw that the girl was not there. He asked the old woman, ‘Where’s Nita?’

‘She has not come.’

Then he went to Nita’s house, where she lived, and called, ‘Nita, are you at home?’

Nita answered, [‘I am’].

‘Tell me what you saw when you came to the church. For if you don’t tell me I will kill your father.’

‘I didn’t see anything.’

Then he looked, [42] and he killed her father, and departed to his grave.

Next night he came back. ‘Nita, tell me what you saw.’

‘I didn’t see anything.’

‘Tell me, or I will kill your mother, as I killed your father. Tell me what you saw.’

‘I didn’t see anything.’

Then he killed her mother, and departed to his grave.

Then the girl arose in the morning. And she had twelve servants. And she said to them, ‘See, I have much money and many oxen and many sheep; and they shall come to the twelve of you as a gift, for I shall die to-night. And it will fare ill with you if you bury me not in the forest at the foot of an apple-tree.’

At night came the young spark from the grave and asked, ‘Nita, are you at home?’

‘I am.’

‘Tell me, Nita, what you saw three days ago, or I will kill you, as I killed your parents.’

‘I have nothing to tell you.’

Then he took and killed her. Then, casting a look, he departed to his grave.

So the servants, when they arose in the morning, found Nita dead. The servants took her and laid her out decently. They sat and made a hole in the wall and passed her through the hole, and carried her, as she had bidden, and buried her in the forest by the apple-tree.

And half a year passed by, and a prince went to go and course hares with greyhounds and other dogs. And he went to hunt, and the hounds ranged the forest and came to the maiden’s grave. And a flower grew out of it, the like of which for beauty there was not in the whole kingdom. [43] So the hounds came on her monument, where she was buried, and they began to bark and scratched at the maiden’s grave. Then the prince took and called the dogs with his horn, and the dogs came not. The prince said, ‘Go quickly thither.’

Four huntsmen arose and came and saw the flower burning like a candle. They returned to the prince, and he asked them, ‘What is it?’

‘It is a flower, the like was never seen.’

Then the lad heard, and came to the maiden’s grave, and saw the flower and plucked it. And he came home and showed it to his father and mother. Then he took and put it in a vase at his bed-head where he slept. Then the flower arose from the vase and turned a somersault, [44] and became a full-grown maiden. And she took the lad and kissed him, and bit him and pulled him about, and slept with him in her arms, and put her hand under his head. And he knew it not. When the dawn came she became a flower again.

In the morning the lad rose up sick, and complained to his father and mother, ‘Mammy, my shoulders hurt me, and my head hurts me.’

His mother went and brought a wise woman and tended him. He asked for something to eat and drink. And he waited a bit, and then went to his business that he had to do. And he went home again at night. And he ate and drank and lay down on his couch, and sleep seized him. Then the flower arose and again became a full-grown maiden. And she took him again in her arms, and slept with him, and sat with him in her arms. And he slept. And she went back to the vase. And he arose, and his bones hurt him, and he told his mother and his father. Then his father said to his wife, ‘It began with the coming of the flower. Something must be the matter, for the boy is quite ill. Let us watch to-night, and post ourselves on one side, and see who comes to our son.’

Night came, and the prince laid himself in his bed to sleep. Then the maiden arose from the vase, and became there was never anything more fair—as burns the flame of a candle. And his mother and his father, the king, saw the maiden, and laid hands on her. Then the prince arose out of his sleep, and saw the maiden that she was fair. Then he took her in his arms and kissed her, and lay down in his bed, slept till day.

And they made a marriage and ate and drank. The folk marvelled, for a being so fair as that maiden was not to be found in all the realm. And he dwelt with her half a year, and she bore a golden boy, two apples in his hand. [45] And it pleased the prince well.

Then her old sweetheart heard it, the vampire who had made love to her, and had killed her. He arose and came to her and asked her, ‘Nita, tell me, what did you see me doing?’

‘I didn’t see anything.’

‘Tell me truly, or I will kill your child, your little boy, as I killed your father and mother. Tell me truly.’

‘I have nothing to tell you.’

And he killed her boy. And she arose and carried him to the church and buried him.

At night the vampire came again and asked her, ‘Tell me, Nita, what you saw.’

‘I didn’t see anything.’

‘Tell me, or I will kill the lord whom you have wedded.’

Then Nita arose and said, ‘It shall not happen that you kill my lord. God send you burst.’ [46]

The vampire heard what Nita said, and burst. Ay, he died, and burst for very rage. In the morning Nita arose and saw the floor swimming two hand’s-breadth deep in blood. Then Nita bade her father-in-law take out the vampire’s heart with all speed. Her father-in-law, the king, hearkened, and opened him and took out his heart, and gave it into Nita’s hand. And she went to the grave of her boy and dug the boy up, applied the heart, and the boy arose. And Nita went to her father and to her mother, and anointed them with the blood, and they arose. Then, looking on them, Nita told all the troubles she had borne, and what she had suffered at the hands of the vampire.

The word cĭohanó, which throughout I have rendered ‘vampire,’ is of
course identical with Paspati’s Turkish-Romani tchovekhano, a
‘revenant’ or spectre, which, according to Miklosich, is an
Armenian loan-word, and in other Gypsy dialects of Europe means
‘wizard, witch.’ This vampire story is a connecting link between
the two meanings [47]; but whether the story itself is of Gypsy or
of non-Gypsy origin is a difficult question. We have four versions
of it—two of them Gypsy, viz., this from Roumania, and one in
Friedrich Müller’s Beiträge; and two non-Gypsy, viz., Ralston’s
‘The Fiend’ (Russian Folk-tales, pp. 10–17), and one from Croatia
(Krauss’s Sagen und Märchen der Südslaven, i. 293). Hahn’s
‘Lemonitza’ (ii. 27) also offers analogies. Krauss’s and Müller’s
are both much inferior to Ralston’s and our Roumanian-Gypsy one;
and of them, although Ralston’s opens best, yet its close is
immeasurably inferior. For in it, as in the Hungarian-Gypsy
variant, the flower transforms itself merely to eat and drink. But
Ralston’s story, it will probably be urged, is a typical Russian
story, so must needs be of Russian origin. To which I answer,
Irish-wise, with the question, How then did it travel to Croatia,
to the Gypsies of Hungary and Roumania? That the Gypsies, with
never a church, should make church bells might seem unlikely, did
we not know that at Edzell, in Forfarshire, there is a church bell
that was cast by Gypsies in 1726. So Gypsy story-tellers may well
have devised some domestic narratives for their auditors, not for
themselves. And this story is possibly theirs who tell it best.

The merest glance at Ralston or Krauss will suffice to show that
the Gypsy and Gentile stories are identical, that the likeness
between them is no chance one, but that there has been
transmission—either the Gypsies have borrowed from the Gentiles, or
the Gentiles have borrowed from the Gypsies. Ralston and Krauss are
readily accessible to the general folklorist; of Friedrich Müller’s
version I append this brief résumé. It is compounded of the first
half of his No. 4, which drifts off into quite another story about
a dove and a soldier, and of the second half of his number No. 2,
which opens with a variant of Grimm’s ‘Robber Bridegroom’ (cf.
infra, No. 47, notes):—

The Holy Maid will not marry. The devil creeps in at window. ‘“Now,
thou fair maiden, wilt thou come to me or no?” “No”—this said the
maiden—“to a dead one say I it, but to a living one No.”’ Devil
kills first her father, next her mother; lastly threatens herself.
She tells the gravedigger, ‘Bear me not over the door [this
supplies a lacuna in the Roumanian-Gypsy version], but bury me in a
grave under the threshold, and take me not out from there.’ The
girl then dies and is buried. Flower grows out of grave. King sees
it and sends coachman to pluck it. He cannot [supplies lacuna], but
king does, and takes it home. At night the flower turns into a girl
and eats. Servant sees and tells. King watches next night. The girl
bids him pluck the flower with a clean white cloth with the left
hand, [48] then she will never change back into a rose, but remain
a maiden [supplies lacuna]. King does so, and she marries him on
condition he will never force her to go to church [supplies
lacuna]. He rues his promise when he sees the other kings going to
church with their wives. She consents: ‘But now, as thou wilt, I
go. Thy God shall be also my God.’ When she comes into church,
there are the twelve robbers [story reverts here to the first half
of No. 2]. The robber cuts her throat and she dies. ‘If she is not
dead, she is still alive.’

It will be seen that, rude and corrupt as these two fragments are,
they supply some details wanting in the Roumanian-Gypsy version.
They cannot, then, be borrowed from it, but it and they are clearly
alike derived from some older, more perfect original.

NO. 6.—GOD’S GODSON

There was a queen. From youth to old age that queen never bore but one son. That son was a hero. So soon as he was born, he said to his father, ‘Father, have you no sword or club?’

‘No, my child, but I will order one to be made for you.’

The son said, ‘Don’t order one, father: I will go just as I am.’

So the son took and departed, and journeyed a long while, and took no heed, till he came into a great forest. So in that forest he stretched himself beneath a tree to rest a bit, for he was weary. And he sat there a while. Then the holy God and St. Peter came on the lad; and he was unbaptized. So the holy God asked him, ‘Where are you going, my lad?’

‘I am going in quest of heroic achievements, old fellow.’

Then the holy God thought and thought, and made a church. And he caused sleep to fall on that lad, and bade St. Peter lift him, and went with him to the church, and gave him the name Handak. And the holy God said to him, ‘Godson, a hero like you there shall never be any other; and do you take my god-daughter.’

For there was a maiden equally heroic, and equally baptized by God. And she was his god-daughter, and he told his godson to take her. And he gave him a wand of good fortune and a sword. And he endowed him with strength, and set him down. And his godfather departed to heaven, like the holy God that he was.

And Handak perceived that God had endowed him with strength, and he set out in quest of heroic achievements, and journeyed a long while, and took no heed. So he came into a great forest. And there was a dragon three hundred years old. And his eyelashes reached down to the ground, and likewise his hair. And the lad went to him and said, ‘All hail.’

‘You are welcome.’

Soon as that hero [the dragon] heard his voice, he knew that it was God’s godson.

And the lad, Handak, asked him, ‘Does God’s god-daughter dwell far hence?’

‘She dwells not far; it is but a three days’ journey.’

And the lad took and departed, and journeyed three days until he came to the maiden’s. Soon as the maiden saw him, she recognised him for her godfather’s godson. And she let him into her house, and served up food to him, and ate with him and asked him, ‘What seek you here, Handak?’

He said, ‘I have come on purpose to marry you.’

‘With whom?’

‘With myself an you will.’

She said, ‘I will not have it so without a fight.’

And the lad said, ‘Come let us fight.’

And they fell to fighting, and fought three days; and the lad vanquished her. And he took her, and went to their godfather. And he crowned them and made a marriage. And they became rulers over all lands. And I came away, and told the story.

This story, though poor as a story, is yet sufficiently curious.
Tweedledum and Tweedledee, in Alice in Wonderland, are suggested by
the ‘not without a fight’; but I can offer no real variant or
analogue of ‘God’s Godson.’ It is noteworthy, however, that the
holy God and St. Peter occur in another of Barbu Constantinescu’s
Roumanian-Gypsy stories, ‘The Apples of Pregnancy,’ No. 16, and
baptize another boy in Miklosich’s Gypsy story from the Bukowina,
No. 9, ‘The Mother’s Chastisement’; whilst we get Christ and St.
Peter in a Catalonian-Gypsy story (cited under No. 60). For the
nuptial crown in the last line but two, cf. Ralston’s Songs of the
Russian People, pp. 198, 270, 306. See also the Roumanian-Gypsy
story of ‘The Prince and the Wizard,’ No. 15, for an heroic hero,
nought-heeding, who sets out in quest of heroic achievements.

NO. 7.—THE SNAKE WHO BECAME THE KING’S SON-IN-LAW

There were an old man and an old woman. From their youth up to their old age they had never had any children (lit. ‘made any children of their bones’). So the old woman was always scolding with the old man—what can they do, for there they are old, old people? The old woman said, ‘Who will look after us when we grow older still?’

‘Well, what am I to do, old woman?’

‘Go you, old man, and find a son for us.’

So the old man arose in the morning, and took his axe in his hand, and departed and journeyed till mid-day, and came into a forest, and sought three days and found nothing. Then the old man could do no more for hunger. He set out to return home. So as he was coming back, he found a little snake and put it in a handkerchief, and carried it home. And he brought up the snake on sweet milk. The snake grew a week and two days, and he put it in a jar. The time came when the snake grew as big as the jar. The snake talked with his father, ‘My time has come to marry me. Go, father, to the king, and ask his daughter for me.’

When the old man heard that the snake wants the king’s daughter, he smote himself with his hands. ‘Woe is me, darling! How can I go to the king? For the king will kill me.’

What said he? ‘Go, father, and fear not. For what he wants of you, that will I give him.’

The old man went to the king. ‘All hail, O king!’

‘Thank you, old man.’

‘King, I am come to form an alliance by marriage.’

‘An alliance by marriage!’ said the king. ‘You are a peasant, and I am a king.’

‘That matters not, O king. If you will give me your daughter, I will give you whatever you want.’

What said the king? ‘Old man, if that be so, see this great forest. Fell it all, and make it a level field; and plough it for me, and break up all the earth; and sow it with millet by to-morrow. And mark well what I tell you: you must bring me a cake made with sweet milk. Then will I give you the maiden.’

Said the old man, ‘All right, O king.’

The old man went weeping to the snake. When the snake saw his father weeping he said, ‘Why weepest thou, father?’

‘How should I not weep, darling? For see what the king said, that I must fell this great forest, and sow millet; and it must grow up by to-morrow, and be ripe. And I must make a cake with sweet milk and give it him. Then he will give me his daughter.’

What said the snake? ‘Father, don’t fear for that, for I will do what you have told me.’

The old man: ‘All right, darling, if you can manage it.’

The old man went off to bed.

What did the snake? He arose and made the forest a level plain, and sowed millet, and thought and thought, and it was grown up by daybreak. When the old man got up, he finds a sack of millet, and he made a cake with sweet milk. The old man took the cake and went to the king.

‘Here, O king, I have done your bidding.’

When the king saw that, he marvelled. ‘My old fellow, hearken to me. I have one thing more for you to do. Make me a golden bridge from my palace to your house, and let golden apple-trees and pear-trees grow on the side of this bridge. Then will I give you my daughter.’

When the old man heard that, he began to weep, and went home.

What said the snake? ‘Why weepest thou, father?’

The old man said, ‘I am weeping, darling, for the miseries which God sends me. The king wants a golden bridge from his palace to our house, and apple and pear-trees on the side of this bridge.’

The snake said, ‘Fear not, father, for I will do as the king said.’ Then the snake thought and thought, and the golden bridge was made as the king had said. The snake did that in the night-time. The king arose at midnight; he thought the sun was at meat [i.e. it was noon]. He scolded the servants for not having called him in the morning.

The servants said, ‘King, it is night, not day’; and, seeing that, the king marvelled.

In the morning the old man came. ‘Good-day, father-in-law.’

‘Thank you, father-in-law. Go, father-in-law, and bring your son, that we may hold the wedding.’

He, when he went, said, ‘Hearken, what says the king? You are to go there for the king to see you.’

What said the snake? ‘My father, if that be so, fetch the cart, and put in the horses, and I will get into it to go to the king.’

No sooner said, no sooner done. He got into the cart and drove to the king. When the king saw him, he trembled with all his lords. One lord older than the rest, said, ‘Fly not, O king, it were not well of you. For he did what you told him; and shall not you do what you promised? He will kill us all. Give him your daughter, and hold the marriage as you promised.’

What said the king? ‘My old man, here is the maiden whom you demand. Take her to you.’

And he gave him also a house by itself for her to live in with her husband. She, the bride, trembled at him.

The snake said, ‘Fear not, my wife, for I am no snake as you see me. Behold me as I am.’

He turned a somersault, and became a golden youth, in armour clad; he had but to wish to get anything. The maiden, when she saw that, took him in her arms and kissed him, and said, ‘Live, my king, many years. I thought you would eat me.’

The king sent a man to see how it fares with his daughter. When the king’s servant came, what does he see? The maiden fairer, lovelier than before. He went back to the king. ‘O king, your daughter is safe and sound.’

‘As God wills with her,’ said the king. Then he called many people and held the marriage; and they kept it up three days and three nights, and the marriage was consummated. And I came away and told the story.

Cf. Hahn’s No. 31, ‘Schlangenkind’ (i. 212) and notes, but the
stories are not identical; and his No. 100, especially the note
(ii. 313) for Indian version. Wratislaw’s Croatian story, No. 54,
‘The Wonder-3working Lock,’ p. 284 (see under No. 54), offers
striking analogies. Cf. too for cobra palace, Mary Frere’s Old
Deccan Days, p. 21.

NO. 8.—THE BAD MOTHER

There was an emperor. He had been married ten years, but had no children. And God granted that his empress conceived and bore a son. Now that son was heroic; there was none other found like him. And the father lived half a year longer, and died. Then what is the lad to do? He took and departed in quest of heroic achievements. And he journeyed a long while, and took no heed, and came into a great forest. In that forest there was a certain house, and in that house were twelve dragons. Then the lad went straight thither, and saw that there was no one. He opened the door and went in, and he saw a sabre on a nail and took it, and posted himself behind the door, and waited for the coming of the dragons. They, when they came, did not go in all at once, but went in one by one. The lad waited, sabre in hand; and as each one went in, he cut off his head, flung it on the floor. So the lad killed eleven dragons, and the youngest dragon remained. And the lad went out to him, and took and fought with him, and fought half a day. And the lad vanquished the dragon, and took him and put him in a jar, and fastened it securely.

And the lad went to walk, and came on another house, where there was only a maiden. And when he saw the maiden, how did she please his heart. As for the maiden, the lad pleased her just as well. And the maiden was yet more heroic than the lad. And they formed a strong love. And the lad told the maiden how he had killed eleven dragons, and one he had left alive and put in a jar.

The maiden said, ‘You did ill not to kill it; but now let it be.’

And the lad said to the maiden, ‘I will go and fetch my mother, for she is alone at home.’

Then the maiden said, ‘Fetch her, but you will rue it. But go and fetch her, and dwell with her.’

So the lad departed to fetch his mother. He took his mother, and brought her into the house of the dragons whom he had slain. And he said to his mother, ‘Go into every room; only into this chamber do not go.’

His mother said, ‘I will not, darling.’

And the lad departed into the forest to hunt.

And his mother went into the room where he had told her not to go. And when she opened the door, the dragon saw her and said to her, ‘Empress, give me a little water, and I will do you much good.’

She went and gave him water and he said to her, ‘Dost love me, then will I take thee, and thou shalt be mine empress.’

‘I love thee,’ she said.

Then the dragon said to her, ‘What will you do, to get rid of your son, that we may be left to ourselves? Make yourself ill, [49] and say you have seen a dream, that he must bring you a porker of the sow in the other world; that, if he does not bring it you, you will die; but that, if he brings it you, you will recover.’

Then she went into the house, and tied up her head, and made herself ill. And when the lad came home and saw her head tied up, he asked her, ‘What’s the matter, mother?’

She said, ‘I am ill, darling. I shall die. But I have seen a dream, to eat a porker of the sow in the other world.’

Then the lad began to weep, for his mother will die. And he took [50] and departed. Then he went to his sweetheart, and told her. ‘Maiden, my mother will die. And she has seen a dream, that I must bring her a porker from the other world.’

The maiden said, ‘Go, and be prudent; and come to me as you return. Take my horse with the twelve wings, and mind the sow does not seize you, else she’ll eat both you and the horse.’

So the lad took the horse and departed. He came there, and when the sun was midway in his course he went to the little pigs, and took one, and fled. Then the sow heard him, and hurried after him to devour him. And at the very brink (of the other world), just as he was leaping out, the sow bit off half of the horse’s tail. So the lad went to the maiden. And the maiden came out, and took the little pig, and hid it, and put another in its stead. Then he went home to his mother, and gave her that little pig, and she dressed it and ate, and said that she was well.

Three or four days later she made herself ill again, as the dragon had shown her.

When the lad came, he asked her, ‘What’s the matter now, mother?’

‘I am ill again, darling, and I have seen a dream that you must bring me an apple from the golden apple-tree in the other world.’

So the lad took and departed to the maiden; and when the maiden saw him so troubled, she asked him, ‘What’s the matter, lad?’

‘What’s the matter! my mother is ill again. And she has seen a dream that I am to bring her an apple from the apple-tree in the other world.’

Then the maiden knew that his mother was compassing his destruction (lit. ‘was walking to eat his head’), and she said to the lad, ‘Take my horse and go, but be careful the apple-tree does not seize you there. Come to me, as you return.’

And the lad took and departed, and came to the brink of the world. And he let himself in, and went to the apple-tree at mid-day when the apples were resting. And he took an apple and ran away. Then the leaves perceived it and began to scream; and the apple-tree took itself after him to lay its hand on him and kill him. And the lad came out from the brink, and arrived in our world, and went to the maiden. Then the maiden took the apple, stole it from him, and hid it, and put another in its stead. And the lad stayed a little longer with her, and departed to his mother. Then his mother, when she saw him, asked him, ‘Have you brought it, darling?’

‘I’ve brought it, mother.’

So she took the apple and ate, and said there was nothing more the matter with her.

In a week’s time the dragon told her to make herself ill again, and to ask for water from the great mountains. So she made herself ill.

When the lad saw her ill, he began to weep and said, ‘My mother will die, God. She’s always ill.’ Then he went to her and asked her, ‘What’s the matter, mother?’

‘I am like to die, darling. But I shall recover if you will bring me water from the great mountains.’

Then the lad tarried no longer. He went to the maiden and said to her, ‘My mother is ill again; and she has seen a dream that I must fetch her water from the great mountains.’

The maiden said, ‘Go, lad; but I fear the clouds will catch you, and the mountains there, and will kill you. But do you take my horse with twenty-and-four wings; and when you get there, wait afar off till mid-day, for at mid-day the mountains and the clouds set themselves at table and eat. Then do you go with the pitcher, and draw water quickly, and fly.’

Then the lad took the pitcher, and departed thither to the mountains, and waited till the sun had reached the middle of his course. And he went and drew water and fled. And the clouds and the mountains perceived him, and took themselves after him, but they could not catch him. And the lad came to the maiden. Then the maiden went and took the pitcher with the water, and put another in its stead without his knowing it. And the lad arose and went home, and gave water to his mother, and she recovered.

Then the lad departed into the forest to hunt. His mother went to the dragon and told him, ‘He has brought me the water. What am I to do now with him?’

‘What are you to do! why, take and play cards with him. You must say, “For a wager, as I used to play with your father.”’

So the lad came home and found his mother merry: it pleased him well. And she said to him at table, as they were eating, ‘Darling, when your father was alive, what did we do? When we had eaten and risen up, we took and played cards for a wager.’

Then the lad: ‘If you like, play with me, mother.’

So they took and played cards; and his mother beat him. And she took silken cords, and bound his two hands so tight that the cord cut into his hands.

And the lad began to weep, and said to his mother, ‘Mother, release me or I die.’

She said, ‘That is just what I was wanting to do to you.’ And she called the dragon, ‘Come forth, dragon, come and kill him.’

Then the dragon came forth, and took him, and cut him in pieces, and put him in the saddle-bags, and placed him on his horse, and let him go, and said to the horse, ‘Carry him, horse, dead, whence thou didst carry him alive.’

Then the horse hurried to the lad’s sweetheart, and went straight to her there. Then, when the maiden saw him, she began to weep, and she took him and put piece to piece; where one was missing, she cut the porker, and supplied flesh from the porker. So she put all the pieces of him in their place. And she took the water and poured it on him, and he became whole. And she squeezed the apple in his mouth, and brought him to life.

So when the lad arose, he went home to his mother, and drove a stake into the earth, and placed both her and the dragon on one great pile of straw. And he set it alight, and they were consumed. And he departed thence, and took the maiden, and made a marriage, and kept up the marriage three months day and night. And I came away and told the story.

Of this Roumanian-Gypsy story Miklosich furnishes a Gypsy variant
from the Bukowina, which I will give in full at the risk of seeming
repetition, italicising such words and phrases as show the most
marked correspondence:—

NO. 9.—THE MOTHER’S CHASTISEMENT

There was an emperor’s son, and he went to hunt. And he departed from the hunters by himself. And by a certain stack there was a maiden. He passed near the stack, and heard her lamenting. He took that maiden, and brought her home.

‘See, mother, what I’ve found.’

His mother took her to the kitchen to the cook to bring her up. She brought her up twelve years. The empress dressed her nicely, and put her in the palace to lay the table. The prince loved her, for she was so fair that in all the world there was none so fair as she. The prince loved her three years, and the empress knew it not.

Once he said, ‘I will take a wife, mother.’

‘From what imperial family?’

‘I wish to marry her who lays the table.’

‘Not her, mother’s darling!’

‘If I don’t take her, I shall die.’

‘Take her.’

And he took her; he married her. And an order came for him to go to battle. He left her big with child.

The empress called two servants. ‘Take her into the forest and kill her, and bring me her heart and little finger.’

They put her in the carriage, and drove her into the forest; after them ran a whelp. And they brought her into the forest, and were going to kill her, and she said, ‘Kill me not, for I have used you well.’

‘How are we to take her the heart, then?’

‘Kill the whelp, for its heart is just like a human one, and cut off my little finger.’

They killed the whelp, and cut off her little finger, and took out the whelp’s heart.

And she cried, ‘Gather wood for me, and make me a fire; and strip off bark for me, and build me a hut.’

They built her a hut, and made her a fire, and went away home, bringing the heart and the little finger.

She brought forth a son. God and St. Peter came and baptized him; [51] and God gave him a gun that he should become a hunter. Whatever he saw he would kill with the gun. And God gave him the name Silvester. And God made a house of the hut, and the fire no longer died. And God gave them a certain loaf; they were always eating, and it was never finished.

The boy grew big, and he took his gun in his hand, and went into the forest. And what he saw he killed, carried to his mother, and they ate. Walking in the forest, he came upon the dragons’ palace, and sat before the door. At mid-day the dragons were coming home. He saw them from afar, eleven (sic) in number; and eleven he shot with his gun, and one he merely stunned. And he took them, and carried them into the palace, and shut them up in a room; and he went to his mother, and said, ‘Come with me, mother.’

‘Where am I to go to, mother’s darling?’

‘Come with me, where I take you to.’

He went with her to the palace. ‘Take to thee, mother, twelve keys. Go into any room you choose, but into this room do not go.’

He went into the forest to hunt.

She said, ‘Why did my son tell me not to go in here? But I will go to see what is there.’

She opened the door.

The dragon asked her, ‘If thou art a virgin, be my sister; but if thou art a wife, be my wife.’

‘I am a wife.’

‘Then be my wife.’

‘I will; but will you do the right thing by me?’

‘I will.’

‘Swear, then.’

‘I swear.’

The dragon swore. The dragon said to her, ‘Swear also thou.’

She also swore. They kissed one another on the mouth. She brought him to her into the house; they drank and ate, and loved one another.

Her son came from the forest. She saw him. She said, ‘My son is coming; go back into the room.’

He went back, and she shut him in.

In the morning her son went again into the forest to hunt. She admitted the dragon again to her. They drank and ate. He said to her, ‘How shall we kill your son? Then we’ll live finely. Make yourself ill, and say that you have seen a dream, that he must bring milk from the she-bear for you to drink. Then you’ll have nothing to trouble you, for the she-bear will devour him.’

He came home from the forest. ‘What’s the matter with you, mother?’

‘I shall die, but I saw a dream. Bring me milk from the she-bear.’

‘I’ll bring it you, mother.’

He went into the forest, and found the she-bear. He was going to shoot her.

She cried, ‘Stop, man. What do you want?’

‘You to give me milk.’

She said, ‘I will give it you. Have you a pail?’

‘I have.’

‘Come and milk.’

He milked her, and brought it to his mother.

‘Here, mother.’

She pretended to drink, but poured it forth.

In the morning he went again into the forest, and met the Moon. ‘Who art thou?’

‘I am the Moon.’

‘Be a sister to me.’

‘But who art thou?’

‘I am Silvester.’

‘Then thou art God’s godson, for God takes care of thee. I also am God’s.’

‘Be a sister to me.’

‘I will be a sister to thee.’

He went further; he met Friday. ‘Who art thou?’

‘I am Friday, but who art thou?’

‘I am Silvester.’

‘Thou art God’s godson; I also am God’s.’

‘Be a sister to me.’

He went home. His mother saw him. ‘My son is coming.’

‘Send him to the wild sow to bring thee milk, for she will devour him.’

‘Always sick, mother?’

‘I am. I have seen a dream. Bring me milk from the wild sow.’

‘I know not whether or no I shall bring it, but I will try.’

He went; he found the sow; he was going to shoot her with his gun. She cried, ‘Don’t, don’t shoot me. What do you want?’

‘Give me milk.’

‘Have you a pail? come and milk.’

He brought it to his mother. She pretended to drink, but poured it forth. He went again into the forest.

She admitted the dragon to her. ‘In vain, for the sow has not devoured him.’

‘Then send him to the Mountains of Blood, that butt at one another like rams, to bring thee water, the water of life and the water of healing. If he does not die there, he never will.’

‘I have seen a dream, that you bring me water from the Mountains of Blood, which butt at one another like rams, for then there will be nothing the matter with me.’

He went to the Moon.

‘Whither away, brother?’

‘I am going to the mountains to fetch water for my mother.’

‘Don’t go, brother; you will die there.’

‘Bah! I will go there.’

‘Take thee my horse when thou goest, for my horse will carry thee thither. And take thee a watch, for they butt at one another from morning till noon, and at noon they rest for two hours. So when you come there at the twelfth hour, draw water in two pails from the two wells.’

He came thither at mid-day, and dismounted, and drew water in two pails, the water of life and the water of healing. And he came back to the Moon; and the Moon said, ‘Lie down and sleep, and rest, for you are worn out.’

She hid that water, and poured in other.

He arose. ‘Come, sister, I will depart home.’

‘Take my horse, and go riding. Take the saddle-bags.’

He went home to his mother. His mother saw him coming on horseback, and said to the dragon, ‘My son is coming on horseback.’

‘Tell him that you have seen a dream, that you bind his fingers behind his back with a silken cord; and that if he can burst it he will become a hero, and you will grow strong.’

‘Bind away, mother.’

She made a thick silken cord, and bound his fingers behind his back. He tugged, and grew red in the face; he tugged again, he grew blue; he tugged the third time, he grew black.

And she cried, ‘Come, dragon, and cut his throat.’

The dragon came to him. ‘Well, what shall I do to you now?’

‘Cut me all in bits, and put me in the saddle-bags, and place me on my horse. Thither, whence he carried me living, let him carry me dead.’

He cut him in pieces, put him in the saddle-bags, and placed him on the horse. ‘Go, whence thou didst carry him living, carry him dead.’

The horse went straight to the Moon. The Moon came out, and saw him, and took him in, and called Wednesday, and called Friday; and they laid him in a big trough, and washed him brawly, and placed him on a table, and put him all together, bit by bit; and they took the water of healing, and sprinkled him, and he became whole; and they took the water of life, and sprinkled him, and he came to life.

‘Ah! I was sleeping soundly.’ [52]

‘You would have slept for ever if I had not come.’

‘I will go, sister, to my mother.’

‘Go not, brother.’

‘Bah! I will.’

‘Well, go, and God be with thee. Take thee my sword.’

He went to his mother. His mother was singing and dancing with the dragon. He went in to the dragon. ‘Good day to you both.’

‘Thanks.’

‘Come, what shall I do to you, dragon?’

‘Cut me in little pieces, and put me in the saddle-bags, and place me on my horse. Whence he carried me living, let him carry me also dead.’

He cut him in little pieces, put him in the saddle-bags, placed him on his horse, and dug out the horse’s eyes. ‘Go whither thou wilt.’

Away went the horse, and kept knocking his head against the trees; and the pieces of flesh kept falling from the saddle-bags. The crows kept eating the flesh.

Silvester shot a hare, and skinned it, and spitted it, and roasted it at the fire. And he said to his mother, ‘Mother, look straight at me.’

His mother looked at him. He struck her in the eyes, and her eyes leapt out of her head. And he took her by the hand, led her to a jar, said to her, ‘Mother, when thou hast filled this jar with tears, then God pardon thee; and when thou hast eaten a bundle of hay, and filled the jar with tears, then God pardon thee, and restore thee thine eyes.’

And he bound her there, and departed, and left her three years. In three years she came back to his recollection. ‘I will go to my mother, and see what she is doing.’

Now she has filled the jar, and eaten the bundle of hay.

‘Now may God pardon thee; now I also pardon thee. Depart, and God be with thee.’

A third Gypsy version, from Hungary, the first half of Friedrich
Müller’s No. 5, may be summarised thus:—Two children, driven from
home by mother, wander thirty-five years, and come to a forest so
dense the birds cannot fly through it. They come to a castle so
high they cannot see the top of it. Twelve robbers dwell here. Lad
kills eleven as they come home, but only wounds the twelfth. He
goes forth to hunt, spares lives of twelve wild animals, and brings
them home. The sister meanwhile has restored the twelve robbers to
life. She suggests that her brother shall have a warm bath (cf. De
Gubernatis’ Zool. Myth. i. 213), saying that thereby their father
had been so healthy. In the bath she binds his hands and feet. She
summons twelve robbers. They permit him to play his father’s air on
his pipe; it calls up the twelve animals. They rend the robbers,
and loose the lad, who packs his sister into the great empty jar
(here first mentioned), and leaves her to die of hunger.

This last is a poorly-told story; still, not without its features
of interest. It will be noticed that in it, as in many non-Gypsy
variants, the dragons are rationalised into robbers (sometimes
blackamoors). Of the Roumanian and the Bukowina-Gypsy versions the
former seems to me the better on the whole. The opening of the
Bukowina version cannot properly belong to the story, for it
arouses an interest in the mother, who yet turns out a bad lot.
[53] Its close, however, is decidedly superior. What a picture is
that of the mother and the dragon singing and dancing, and what a
one that of the blinded horse and the crows! In both versions there
is the same omission—the inquiry into the seat of the hero’s
strength; and in the Bukowina one no use is made of the milk from
the she-bear and the wild sow, nor are we told of the hero’s first
meeting with Wednesday. Plainly the Roumanian version is not
derived from the Bukowina one, nor the Bukowina one from the
Roumanian; but they point to an unknown, more perfect original.
Even as they stand, however, both are better than any of the
non-Gypsy variants known to me. These include five from Hahn’s
Greek collection (i. 176, 215; ii. 234, 279, 283); one in Roumanian
Fairy Tales, by E. B. M. (Lond. 1884, pp. 81–89), resembling the
Hungarian-Gypsy version; three German and one Lithuanian, cited by
Hahn (ii. 236); one Russian, summarised by Ralston (p. 235); the
well-known ‘Blue Belt’ in Dasent’s Tales from the Norse (p. 178);
and Laura Gonzenbach’s No. 26, ‘Vom tapfern Königssohn’ (Sicil.
Mär, i. 158–167), where the hero is cut in pieces by his supposed
stepfather, the robber-chieftain, packed into a saddle-bag, and
carried by his ass to a hermit, who revives him, after which the
story drifts off into our No. 45.

I have annotated the Gypsy stories very fully; my notes cover
several pages. Here, however, it must suffice to indicate some of
the more striking parallels from non-Gypsy sources. In Hahn, i.
267, God gives a house to a woman abandoned in a forest (cf. also
i. 73; ii. 26). For the heart and little finger, a very common
incident, compare the English-Gypsy story of ‘Bobby Rag’ (No. 51),
and Hahn, i. 258 and ii. 231. In Grimm, No. 111, a hunter gives the
hero a gun which never misses. For the formula, ‘If thou art a
virgin,’ etc., cf. Ralston, pp. 75–76. For the mountains that butt
together, cf. Ralston, p. 236; Tylor’s Primitive Culture, pp.
313–316; Hahn, ii. 46–47; and Grimm, No. 97. For the water of
healing and the water of life, cf. Ralston, pp. 17, 91, 230, 255.
For ‘Ah! I was sleeping soundly,’ cf. Ralston, pp. 91–92; Hahn, ii.
274; and our No. 29. In Campbell’s Santal Folk-tales, p. 92, a
father, restored to life, says, ‘O my son, what a lengthened sleep
I have had!’ For the sow biting off half of the horse’s tail, cf.
Hahn, i. 312; Krauss, ii. 94; Ralston, p. 235; and Burns’s ‘Tam o’
Shanter.’ For the leaves beginning to scream, cf. Hahn, i. 270 and
ii. 171. In a variant from Afanasief, vi. 52, cited by De
Gubernatis (Z.M., i. 215), the sister for punishment is placed near
some hay and some water, and a vessel which she is to fill with her
tears. It is just worth noting that Silvester is a common
English-Gypsy name.

NO. 10.—THE THREE PRINCESSES AND THE UNCLEAN SPIRIT

There was a king; and from youth to old age he had no son. In his old age three daughters were born to him. And the very morning of their birth the Unclean Spirit came and took them, the three maidens. And he fought to win a woman, the Serpent-Maiden; and half his moustache turned white, and half all the hair on his head, for the sake of the Serpent-Maiden. Time passed by, and he had no son; and his daughters the Unclean Spirit had carried away.

Then he took and thought. ‘What am I to do, wife? I will go for three years (sic); and, when I return, let me find a son born of you. If in a year’s time I find not one, I will kill you.’

He went and journeyed a year and a day. His wife took and thought. As she was a-thinking, a man went by with apples: whoso eats one of his apples shall conceive. Then she went, and took an apple, and ate the apple, and she conceived. The time came that she should bring forth. And she brought forth a son, and called his name Cosmas. So her king came that night, and sent a messenger to ask his wife.

She said, ‘Your bidding is fulfilled.’

Then he went in, and, when he saw the lad, his heart was full.

And the time came when the lad grew big, and he looked the very picture of his father. The time came that his father died. By that time he felt himself a man, and he put forth his little finger, and lifted the palace up. Then he came back from hunting, and he lifted the foundation of the palace, and told his mother to place her breast beneath it. Then his mother placed her breast beneath the foundation, and he left it pressing upon her. Then she cried aloud.

The lad said to her, ‘Mother, tell me, why was my father’s moustache half white?’

Then she said to him, ‘Why, darling, your father fought nine years to win the Serpent-Maiden, and never won her.’

Then he asked, ‘And have I no brother?’

‘No,’ she said; ‘but you have three sisters, and the Unclean Spirit carried them away.’

And he asked, ‘Whither did he carry them?’

Then she said he had carried them to the Land of the Setting Sun.

Then he took his father’s saddle and his bridle and likewise his father’s colt, and set out in quest of his sisters, and arrived at his sister’s house, and hurled his mace, and smashed the plum-trees.